


not yet.

by halowrites



Category: Popslash
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-07
Updated: 2011-03-07
Packaged: 2017-10-16 04:17:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/168320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halowrites/pseuds/halowrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>- written for tiffany rawlins in the Secret Santa Fic Challenge 2002</p>
            </blockquote>





	not yet.

"We start shooting it tomorrow," JC is saying on the phone. "Early. But it'll go late, 'cos there's night scenes and all these wild things that'll be happening. It's gonna be cool, man. If you can come --"

"That's why I called, C," Lance says, "and some directions to where y'all will be at would be helpful."

He can hear the muffled sound of JC yelling to someone in the background, and when he comes back, he reels off a list of street names. "Um....I think," he adds, and Lance rolls his eyes.

"If I get lost --"

"You won't, dude. Just look for the monster trucks."

"Monster trucks? What kind of video is this? I thought you said the movie was about drumming and stuff?"

"Well, yeah. It is." JC sounds sheepish. "But you know I've always wanted monster trucks in a video, man."

 

***

 

 

"Do I need special clearance?" Lance asks, looking at all the dancers and extras wandering past them. "Should I be wearing some kind of funkyass costume too?"

JC grins at him. He's got black tape across his knuckles and is holding drumsticks, tapping them absently against the leg of his leather pants. Lance points to the number on them. "Seven? Is that how many stylists it took to sew you into 'em?"

"It's how many monster trucks I want for Christmas," JC says, and pokes Lance with one of the sticks. "I'm glad you came, man."

"I wouldn't miss this." Lance gestures to the set, to the drifts of people milling about. "This is, y'know. Your thing."

"My thing?" JC nudges his hip, teasing. "My _thing?_ Dude, I feel like I've arrived. I have myself a thing."

Lance shrugs. "We're all off doing our own thing these days, and I just wanted to come see yours." He looks at JC and grins. "Plus, from what he told me, Justin's video set sounded like it was gonna be too wet."

He plucks one of the drumsticks from JC's hand and twirls it in his fingers. "C'mon. You can show me round."

 

***

 

 

"So it's not quite a space shuttle," JC yells, and the rest of his sentence is lost in the roar of engines. He waves his hands about, pointing at the huge trucks that look like children's toys on steroids and Lance nods, no idea whatsoever about what he's saying.

"Drums," JC is shouting when the noise finally stops, "--and you didn't hear a word I said, did you?"

Lance grins and shakes his head.

 

***

 

 

It's like some kind of post-apocalyptic scene with twisted burnt-out shells of cars, and JC is wide-eyed and excited when he tells Lance they're actual props from one of the Mad Max movies.

"Did they come with a certificate of authenticity?" he asks, and JC flips him off.

"They're real. That's what they told me."

"And of course you believe them."

"Why would they lie?"

Lance shrugs. "People do."

JC frowns at him. "When did you get so jaded?"

"Anyone can set a car on fire, JC," says Lance, and puts his sunglasses on.

 

 

***

 

 

They watch from a distance as Tara has her makeup reapplied between takes. JC drinks a bottle of water in a half-dozen swallows and plays with his hair, pulling restlessly at the soft curls.

"So, uh...have you?" Lance asks, nodding his head towards her. "Because y'know everyone's wondering."

"Including you, I see."

Lance doesn't answer.

"People always ask," JC says, finally. "But they don't really care about the answer. They're gonna think what they like anyway, no matter what I say."

"Hmm." Lance wrinkles his nose. "So then I guess it'd be kinda crass to ask if she's in fact a natural blonde."

JC pulls a trucker cap on, and his fingertips are warm when he presses them against Lance's back as he leans in close. Lance feels the gentle brush of lips next to his ear, closes his eyes as a shiver ripples though him.

"I know for a fact that you are," JC murmurs, and walks off to film the next shot.

 

***

 

 

Lance picks up a copy of the publicity shot from a pile they're giving away. "Well, just look at you," he grins. "When did you turn into a supermodel?"

"I had to get up really early for that," JC says, squinting in the sunlight. "They built those drums up in a pile round me. D'you know how long I had to sit there for? It's not all that comfortable after the first hour or so."

Lance studies the glossy photograph in his hand. "You look relaxed enough."

"My ass was asleep, dude. That's not relaxation, that's a coma."

"Me having to learn Russian pales in comparison to such suffering."

"Did I mention it was really early? And fucking cold?"

Lance smiles. "I like the furry drumsticks."

"I dropped them three times. My hands got a cramp."

Lance taps the photo. "Your shoelace is undone."

"I did that to piss Justin off."

 

***

 

 

"Joey tells me you have a posse now." Lance tries to stab a piece of chicken from his salad with a plastic fork, unsuccessfully. Leave it to JC to hire cheap caterers.

"Uh...yeah. I guess. Kinda."

"So, what exactly _is_ a posse, anyway?"

JC's fork snaps in half, and he frowns at it. "Just a bunch of freaks who I hang round with, basically."

Lance grins. "Ok, and that's different to the past seven years how?"

JC throws the broken fork over his shoulder and uses his fingers. "None of them are you."

 

***

 

"Here. It tastes like ass, but it's rumoured to be coffee." JC hands him a cup and sits down. "So, you saw Chris?"

Lance nods. "Yeah, last week. He's got a whole new set of space jokes. I'd only heard three of them before." He laughs, a short harsh sound. "Only three. Pretty good odds, huh?"

JC leans back in his chair, tilting it until he's rocking it on two legs. "You know Chris, man. He doesn't --"

"Yeah -- I know." Lance studies the styrofoam cup in his hand like it's the most fascinating thing he's ever seen. "I know. And I know Joey...he doesn't mean anything by it either. Or Justin. And I know it's not...they're just --" He looks at JC, and shakes his head.

"Hey," JC says softly, fingers lightly resting on Lance's shoulder. "It's their way of dealing with it, y'know?" He touches Lance's face gently, tilting his jaw so he's looking him in the eye. "Maybe they're just scared."

"Scared? Maybe." Lance shrugs, and looks away.

JC's voice is soft. "Are you?"

The question hangs in the air unanswered, unacknowledged. Until Lance turns to him, and nods. Just once, and just barely, but he knows JC understands. He always has.

JC stretches out a foot and kicks gently at Lance's ankle. "Well, cut that out, man. You may be a certified cosmonaut, but I have me some monster trucks. You're just asking for trouble."

Lance can't stop the smile that tugs at the corner of his mouth. "You and who's army, Chasez?"

JC swallows the last of his coffee, and crumples the cup in his fist. "Me and my posse," he grins, and tosses the cup into the trash.

 

***

 

 

Carlos walks past them, talking animatedly into his cellphone. He lifts a hand in greeting to Lance, but doesn't stop.

Lance raises an eyebrow at JC.

"Not fair, Lance."

"I didn't --"

"You were going to."

Lance looks away and watches as pyrotechnics are set up for the next shot. There's a test run, and sparks shower down gently around them, lighting up the night sky with glitterbright streaks. Brighter than the stars, and a thousand times more colourful for just a moment before they fade away into nothingness again.

"I heard you on the radio," he says, after a while. "Talking about my training in those interviews you did. About how even when I was just a little kid -- how much I wanted all this." He looks up at the sky, blinking against the cold glare of the stars. "You said it couldn't happen to a better person -- that nobody deserves it more than me."

"I meant it, man. I have faith in you. You know that."

"I know that you did. That you do." Lance watches as another burst of sparks drifts slowly back down to earth. He feels JC's hand reach for his in the darkness, smiles as fingers warm and familiar wrap around his own. "You always have."

"C'mon," JC says, pulling him to his feet. "One last shot to be done, and I'm all yours."

 

***

 

 

"Hey- what's this?" Lance runs his fingers over the warm skin of JC's hip, tracing around the small circular design there. Just below the soft jut, curved gently around bone, and Lance's breath catches in his throat.

A tattoo. A perfect replica of his mission patch.

"Oh god.... JC." He closes his eyes against the rush of emotion that floods through him, a wild heat that settles gently around his heart.

JC rolls over to face him, long legs tangled with his, licks the corner of Lance's mouth as they kiss. "You like it?" He closes his hand over Lance's, twining their fingers together before softly brushing them across his hip. "They even did the Russian writing...see?"

"But you. Needles -- I thought." Lance doesn't know what to say, can't even start to try and find the words from the myriad that swirl in his head.

"Hey." JC's hands are warm on his face as he leans in to brush another kiss across his lips. "A little pain never killed anyone." He grins. "They made you learn a whole new language, remember?"

"But I didn't go." Lance looks at him. "JC, you got this...and I didn't go."

"Not yet." JC lifts Lance's hand to his mouth, kisses his fingertips gently and smiles. "But you will."

 


End file.
